With friends like these

Had just walked into my house the other day when I heard a little girl crying.

At first, it sound like my own. But when I walked into the room, it was one of the girls of the local ironing lady.

Komal is what her name means, delicate. She is stick-thin with a pale skin, unkempt hair, sad eyes but a lovely smile. Komal and her older sister, Sunaina, have been my little girl's friends since we moved into this accommodation.

At first, a big attraction for the girls was chocolates or sweets or fruits. But over days and weeks, they started enjoyed playing with each other.

Sunaina is street-smart and goes to school. Komal spends the day either in the small shack, that her Mum operates out of, or in the park behind it. She is joined by her sister in the park when she returns from school.

On this evening, the two sisters were playing in the park with my little one. As it started getting darker, both sets of Mums asked the girls to come back home. In her rush to come back quickly, Komal tripped on a boy's legs - who, in turn, fell over her.

Her shoulder turned around in an instant and she started wailing. My better half rushed Komal to her Mum, who was busy wrapping up for the day. She looked to her grandma, who said: "Go away. You keep injuring yourself every few days".

The girl was probably just looking for a cuddle. Or a show of concern. But neither Mum nor Grandmum had time for her. You need to take her to a doctor, my better half said. Neither said a word. Where is her Dad? He is still stuck at work and can't come anytime soon.

Do you want to come upstairs? my better half asked. Komal didn't say a word or stop crying, but held her hands and walked up.

She was still in a lot of discomfort. It's hurting quite a bit. It is hurting quite a bit. I don't want the doctor to give me an injection. I don't want the doctor to give me an injection.

To distract her from the pain, my better half asked if Komal wanted milk. Yes. Did she want a toast or biscuit? Biscuit. She was quite obviously hungry and finished off her snack very quickly. Every now and then, she would cry out - It's hurting quite a bit. I don't want the doctor to give me injection.

Sunaina didn't know what to do. You know? When someone moves her hand, it hurts her. She is not careful. She gets hurt very often.

It was a bit sad to see little Komal lying in someone else's house with an injury. Her family works really hard to earn a living. Dad is a driver, but helps out with the ironing when he is not busy. But the little girls spend their time without any adult supervision.

Despite two lovely daughters, Komal's Mum is pregnant with her third child. I so wish it is a boy this time around, Komal's Grandma keeps saying. When asked if Komal could be provided medication, Grandma shot back: What is the point in buying medicines? She will waste our money and hurt herself again. Even her Mum said she wanted Vitamins and hasn't had even one tablet until now.

Once Dad returned from work, he took Komal and Sunaina with him.

The next day I saw Komal, she was quiet and sad. She didn't say a word when I asked how she felt. It was Grandma again: We took her to a wrestler who knows how to adjust bones. He had pulled the shoulder back in the socket and put on a bandage. He feels there might be a fracture in the collar bone but that it might heal.

For days that followed, she kept sitting quietly on one of the benches her Mum uses to keep ironed clothed. Any attempt to talk to her or find out how she was feeling went unresponded.

Until Tuesday evening, that is. Uncle, can we come up to play? she asked me as I returned home.

It was nice to see her smiling again - even though it was a feeble and weak smile.